“Molly has a Governess who comes in every day; and I am pleased to be able to report that she makes good advance in her Study’s, as much as one cou’d expect. The young Governess is of French Extraction, her father having lost his life in the French Revolution, and her mother having fled with this daughter to England. She will therefore be able to impart to Molly the correct Pronunciation of French terms, which few Britishers manage to Acquire. Molly is growing fast, and though she will never be handsome, she is gaining a Pleasing expression of countenance; her manners are Genteel; and she behaves with Candour and Propriety. “Serious fears have been Entertain’d of a French Invasion of this Country, but I trust, thro’ the Mercy of God, that the danger is averted for this autumn. Mr. and Mrs. Bryce have fled to Bath for greater Safety, in accordance with my Advice; and indeed I was heartily glad when Polly had left Sandgate. If the french Army shou’d land, and shou’d advance to Lon^{n}, God forbid they shou’d molest the good Citizens, who I hope will be enabled to drive the french by thousands into old Thames.[1] People seem now, however, greatly to relax in their fears. “You will dou’tless be glad to hear that Polly is well, though she has not quite her usual bloom. Indeed, I am convinc’d that she has suffered greatly from your prolonged Absence, although, having a high Spirit, she does not readily betray her feelings. “Believe me, my dear Sir, “Yours sincerely, “C. FAIRBANK.” “Den, is it from Polly?” cried Roy, bursting into the room. “Yes. And Molly is quite well, and sends you her love. Come, we must tell your mother that I have heard.” “I’ve done your unpacking. Mademoiselle wouldn’t let me stay. She said I ought to leave you to read your letter in peace.” “Rather hard upon you, eh?” suggested Ivor. “Come along!” and Roy, forgetting all else, sent a shout in advance to prepare his mother for what was coming. They had to make the most of this letter. None could guess how long a time might pass before they would hear again. Every detail was eagerly dwelt upon, and on the whole Polly’s report was counted satisfactory. Naturally it awoke fresh memories, fresh regrets, fresh longings; yet Denham at least seemed the better for his “medicine.” The look of weight and strain was gone from his face next morning, and he appeared to be in much his usual spirits, when he proposed a walk with Roy to explore the neighbourhood. He and the Colonel had just returned from _appel_; all détenus and prisoners having at stated intervals to report themselves at the _maison de ville_. “Will you have to sign your names every day?” Mrs. Baron asked, on hearing particulars.